


Straight Up Armageddon

by rainbowBarnacle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Best Friends, Gen, Moirails, back up your fuckiing hard driiveth, stormfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowBarnacle/pseuds/rainbowBarnacle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Your name is Karkat Vantas and you really fucking hate driving.'</p><p>In which two trolls learn just how incredibly sucky Earth weather can be.</p><p>A work in progress for fevered_ego's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fevered_ego](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_ego/gifts).



Your name is Karkat Vantas and you really fucking hate driving.

In your eight sweeps you have driven hovercraft, you have driven gliders, you have driven transport craft, and you have driven escape pods. In the three and a half perigees you've spent on Earth, you have had your ass handed to you by _Tholluckth_ repeatedly while you flailed and struggled and cursed at Grand Theft Auto 3 until you threw the controller across the room in disgust. You have learned the particular rage that occurs while taking driver's tests, only to discover _that_ annoyance was nothing compared to sitting through Arlington's rush hour traffic with a broken air conditioner in the middle of July.

There is something about trying to control a recalcitrant vehicle that drives you absolutely bugshit insane. Screaming at the machinery never helps, though this hardly stops you. It feels too physical, too _weird_ , having to control something from the inside. You hate having to depend on a device that may glitch or short circuit or blow a tire or overheat at any given moment.

Or explode. When you learned that most earth vehicles _were powered by fucking petroleum_ , you lost your shit then and there and it had taken nearly a week of Strider's goading to get you to approach one again.

The thought still scares the shit out of you.

None of this, however, compares to the special terror of driving Strider's hand-me-down wood paneled mustard yellow station wagon through the worst fucking storm you've ever seen in your life.

It is Sollux's fault, of course.

Your moirail has spent the last week in one of his psycho manic moods while he absorbs himself in code. Were you not there to drag him away to eat, sleep, and bathe every once and awhile, you're pretty sure you'd have to surgically remove his twitching husk of a body from his computer chair and scrape him into a specimen jar.

However, today he is finally close to finished. Soon the two of you can find other ways to burn off his manic phase that didn't involve you staring at the back of his unmoving head and trying to make conversation while the six different keyboards clack endlessly around you.

Then there was a brief mishap where Sollux ran out of DVD-RWs and sent you out to get some.

And now you're in the middle of a motherfucking hail storm.

This is completely terrifying.

You are no stranger to violent weather. On Alternia there were extratropical storms that left entire coastlines devastated. There were wind storms and thunderstorms and forest fires. You even sat through a sandstorm once that lasted for almost three days.

However—unlike on Earth, where the weather suffers from almost as many mood swings as your moirail—Alternia had two seasons, dark and dim. Storms were mostly predictable and most disasters were certainly preventable.

What you are currently driving through feels like every storm you've ever encountered or imagined rolled up into one. The air is thick with humidity and _electric_ and the sky is fucking _green_ and the clouds have opened up and sent a downpour of blood warm rain slamming down to earth, which soaked you to the skin in seconds while you were on the way to your car with your purchase.

You quickly realize that putting up with the utter incompetence most drivers showed during rush hour traffic is nothing compared to being stuck on a highway full of frantic, frightened humans cutting each other off and fishtailing and skidding and sliding. It is all you can do to weave your way through it all, cursing at the top of your voice until it cracks, all while the sky throbs with muted flashes of lightning and _churns_ like some unholy plague shitting vortex from hell.

It wouldn't have surprised you one little bit to see horrorterrors crawling out of that fucker.

You are fifteen minutes from home when the hail starts. The sound startles you at first; for a second you think a small rock hit your windshield, but then it happens again and again and all at once there are little white pellets pounding your already dented second hand vehicle, and by the time you make it back to the hive they have gone from almost invisible to the size of chickpeas. The sound is so deafening that you can no longer hear your own hoarse screaming.

Finally, you wrestle the car into your narrow parking lot. For a moment or two you sit there and try to gather your thoughts amid the cacophony of hail. You hesitate. You think maybe it's best to wait until the storm calms down at least fractionally, but your moirail is in there all alone, and you can bet that he's never experienced anything like this before either.

Then something _thunks_ against the roof that sounds significantly heavier than all the other plinks and thwaps and pings flooding your ears, and that cinches it for you. Going inside: definitely a better idea.

A large hailstone connects with your right horn the second you exit the car. You blurt a yelp and clap a hand to your forehead, staggering, and for a split second it's all encompassing and you are reeling too much at the sharp pain in that horn dulling down to a throb and pooling in your thinkpan to notice that you're being pelted with small, stinging pellets from head to toe.

  


>   
> 

  


“Mother _fuck_ \--”

Fortunately, the distance from your car to your hive is mercifully short. You wrench the door open and slam it closed behind you.

The entire hive is pitch dark save for some very troubling blue and red flashes visible at the end of the hallway.

“FUCK. FUUUUUCK. OH MY FUCKING SHIT I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THITH NO. NO NO NO NO NO--”

The hive feels like it might shake itself apart and you realize it's not just because of the storm outside, but because _Sollux has lost four straight days and nights of coding in one fell swoop_ and now everything in his room is likely spinning and crashing as he completely flies off the handle.

You creep down the hallway and peer inside and oh holy fucking god it's worse than you thought.

There is your best friend, all sharp angles, jagged teeth and blazing mismatched eyes, hovering in mid-air and _crackling_. His work area is a sparking, smoking mess and mingled with the ozone smell of his psionics is the unmistakable odor of smoke and burnt plastic and oh shit is his computer _on fire_?

You don't think, you just move, dodging a thoughtlessly flung power strip that just barely misses your head. You don't try to talk him down, you just put your arms around him and shout his name until it penetrates his thinkpan and he's clinging to you and screaming his rage into your chest.

After a moment or two, the writhing wisps of blue and red energy coiling around him fade and everything hovering in mid-air abruptly drops. The room goes dark. Sollux's hands are still fisted in your shirt as if he's unsure whether to throttle you or throw his arms around you.

With dawning horror, you note his furious, mindless screeching has changed; now he's convulsing with thin, miserable sobs.

You pull him away, take him by both shoulders, and turn him around. Wordlessly, you guide the snuffling, hiccuping troll down the hall, through the kitchen, and down the stairs.

Your basement is pitch dark and humid and contains one garment laundering device, one drying unit, a table for folding clothes, and one tattered, vomit colored recliner that came with the hive. There is also a bathroom the approximate size of a closet.

Sollux has his face buried in his hands and keeps moaning over and over again about how it's gone, he lost it all. Feeling your chest go tight, you walk him over to the chair and stand him next to it, but he doesn't sit. He just wipes his face and trembles and _looks_ at you and you put your arms around him without really thinking too much about it.

He doesn't return it. He just leans into you, skinny arms dangling, and hiccups. “ _God_ , KK--”

You sigh. “Hey. We'll fix it. We'll fix it.”

“No we won't, it'th fucking _fried_ \--”

“We'll find a way. C'mon. I know it sucks—” You wince as he heaves another sob at those words, your voice turning brittle with panic. “–but don't think about it for right now, okay? Not with the world coming to a fucking end outside. _Sit_.”

There is a draft coming from somewhere and you are shivering. You give his shoulder an awkward pat before drawing back and giving him a nudge toward the chair. This time he sits.

You rummage for something dry to wear. There are some soiled clothes in the hamper, but you don't want to think about what bacterial colonies might be thriving in them. You open the drying unit and breathe a relieved sigh as you discover the slightly wrinkly clothes you left there the day before.

“I'll be right back.”

You change in the bathroom. Peeling the soaked clothes off you feels disgusting, especially your jeans. After some squirming, you manage to get the dry clothes on and poke your head back out to check on Sollux. He is where you left him, huddled into the recliner and staring blankly into space, his eyes a million miles away as he wallows in whatever self pity torture party he has going on in his thinkpan.

You sigh and toss the damp clothes in the hamper before wiggling in to sit beside him. He moves only enough to accommodate you. It's not exactly comfortable, but you are feeling too wrung out to care.

Outside, the storm rages on.

Sollux is silent. You can only imagine what's going through the poor fuck's head. After all, you've watched him code until his hands trembled with fatigue and he was flinching at phantom noises and invisible bugs. You've seen him chug thick black coffee and Mountain Dew and all manner of disgusting energy drinks until his respiteblock was littered with cans and you half thought he was going to shake himself to pieces. You've watched him write and rewrite and rewrite the same bits of code again and again because _it was never fucking good enough._

And now, all of that was gone. Not just the work, but his entire workstation. Everything he had ever written or planned to write, all of his backups, all of the backups of the backups. You have the fleeting thought that it's a shame much of what he writes is too heavy for anything but the most private of storage methods, or he might be able to keep his shit holed up online somewhere.

Perhaps just as devastating is the sickening realization that Sollux has absolutely nothing to do now.

You have seen him during those fucking awful weeks where he was convinced that there was no point in staying awake or bathing or eating or moving. You would much rather spend all day interrupting him at random intervals to remind him to _fucking eat something you unbelievable workaholic dipshit_ than spend hours conducting one-sided arguments, griping and mocking and threatening and begging him until he finally, finally caves.

In a way, this is worse than simply having nothing to do—Sollux _had_ something to do. He told you at one point he felt useful and productive for the first time in months, and there were fleeting moments when he was actually visibly _happy_ with himself that made your heart crack a little to see.

When you left for the electronics store, Sollux was on the brink of finishing.

And now here he sits, empty-handed, useless.

He is being too quiet. You know from experience that this isn't good.

“We might be able to salvage something.”

The silence stretches and Sollux sighs. You wonder if he's growing exasperated with you or if he simply doesn't have the words to respond.

“Once this shit calms down and we're not in danger of having a fucking tree fly through our hive, we can crack your computer open and see if the hard drive's still good. Neither of us got a good look at it in there. It could still be fine.”

His shoulder moves. You're not sure if that was a shrug or just him shifting.

“No, really. Look—hey. _Look_ at me. Remember when Aradia's computer burst and you showed up like a big hero and rescued her giant stash of Troll Indiana Jones jpegs or whatever the hell she had on there?”

“Why are you even trying, KK.”

Your upper lip curls. “Oh, fuck me, then. I beg your pardon. Clearly you're in _complete_ possession of your mental capacities. Surely you know what's best. I only had to tell you five fucking times to put on clean clothes today.” You hold up a hand to cut him off. “Don't start this shit. Just don't. I've heard it all before. Woe is you, you're fucking useless, why do I put up with you, you're a horrible person—any of this sound familiar, fuckass? Because I'm sick to death of it.

“I am _trying_ because I'm your goddamned moirail and apparently it's my lot in life to drag your sorry ass out of whatever pity party oubliette you've thrown yourself down.” You glare at him. “And you know I _will_ , because I always do. So let's skip all that bullshit for once in our lives and give me your fucking phone.”

This is enough to bring him out of his stupor a little. Brows furrowing, he digs into a pocket and pulls it out. “Why?”

“Because, in case you haven't noticed, the power is out, and I have a thermal hull full of extremely perishable food that I bought to feed your manic ass. It's going to be in the high 90s tomorrow, Captor, and I have this sinking feeling the power isn't going to come back if even we waggle our asses and pray. Do you want to know what happens to a thermal hull full of food in that heat? I didn't fucking think so.” You pluck it from his fingers and scan the contact list. “Let's see if Strider made it through this okay.”

By now, the storm outside has quieted. A glance out the window reveals that the sky lightened during your little rant and lost its green tinge. The hail also ceased, with only harsh gusts of hard rain pelting the hive at random intervals now.

To your surprise, you're able to establish a connection. You position the phone in such a way that Sollux can read along with you:

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]  
CG: STRIDER.  
turntechGodhead: [Auto-Away message] I am not here right now.  
CG: GET ON YOUR FUCKING LAPTOP, ASSHOLE.  
CG: WHY IS YOUR PLANET TRYING TO KILL US, STRIDER.  
TG: oh hey  
TG: dont ask me  
TG: tornado missed my place by miles man  
TG: whatd you do to piss off gaia karkles  
TG: havent you been recycling

You remember the piles of Red Bull and Monster cans in Sollux's room and turn to arch a brow at him mock-suspiciously. You're surprised to see the barest hint of an almost-smile there.

CG: FUCK YOU VERY MUCH.   
TG: your power out then   
CG: YEAH.   
TG: okay well the tv says its passing over you now   
TG: just sit tight and chill   
TG: maybe take a little nap   
TG: and if you wake up in a magical land full of little people and witches and yellow brick roads dont be afraid   
TG: theyll love you karkles   
TG: theyll probably make you their fussy mayor

You stare at the little phone, grimacing, only to blink in surprise as Sollux snorts. You scowl.

CG: JEGUS FUCK, STRIDER, COULD WE STAY ON TOPIC PLEASE.   
CG: WE NEED A PLACE TO STAY UNTIL OUR POWER RETURNS.   
TG: yeah i bet ta is already going through withdrawal   
TG: dont worry bro   
TG: strider will hook you up   
TG: just tell him to bring   
TG: like   
TG: a notebook or something small   
TG: not the giant hal 9000 thing in his room

You are not quite successful in hiding a wince. Without looking at Sollux, you determine a good time to arrive and establish that there is indeed room for most of their perishables in his basement.

The drive to Strider's is roughly three and a half hours. You are chilled, exhausted, and you're starting to get a headache from when mother nature personally clouted one of your horns earlier.

You don't even want to think about the state your car is in.

Finally, you hand the phone back. By now, it's mostly quiet outside. Miraculously, the sun is peeking through the clouds and the horizon is nothing but rosy colors and dark, swollen clouds. For a second or two you almost find it pretty.

You turn back to your moirail, who is watching you from the recliner. He digs his nails into the arm and glances down at them nervously.

“Could you go in with me?”

You weren't planning on leaving Sollux alone anyway, but you don't mention this and merely nod.

Sollux is grim as the two of you make your way up the stairs, pick your way through the kitchen, and approach his dim, silent respiteblock. It smells even worse than it did when you entered it less than an hour before, and part of you wearily bids farewell to your security deposit.

The thin, watery light peeking through Sollux's blinds is just enough to illuminate just how much of an unholy mess it is in here. Holy fuck. You linger at the door, lifting your chin to see. Sollux drops to his knees. For a second you think it's to find the tower and crack it open, but his knees hit the floor and you get your first clear look at his work station and find that not only is the hard drive impossible to save at this point, but the entire computer is a giant molten pile of cooling, foul smelling slag.

Sollux makes a choking sound and buries his face in his hands. You cross the room and join him there on the filthy floor and hug him gruffly to you. He locks his arms around you and fists his hands in your shirt and you let him cry himself out, and he doesn't draw away when you tentatively cup the back of his head.

Eventually he quiets and part of you is a bit disappointed when his arms loosen and he draws away. This feeling is promptly forgotten once you note your freshly laundered shirt is now smeared with yellow. You manage not to make a face when he looks at you dully, and you see a familiar question in his face, a profoundly weary sort of look that says, _are you ~~finally~~ going leave me alone this time, KK?_

“Get to the ablution chamber and clean yourself up, then meet me in the kitchen.” you say quietly.

The look you give him leaves no room for argument. He straightens, and watching him stand _hurts_. Sollux moves as though an indescribable pressure was bearing down on him from all sides, as if his arms and legs were impossibly heavy, as if his neck barely had the strength to lift his head. A long, haggard sigh flows out of him, but he does as you ask.

You are setting bowls and spoons onto the kitchen table when he enters. Between the two of you are two cartons of ice cream--fudge brownie for you, rainbow sorbet for him--plus a box of mini ice cream sandwiches.

Frowning at how the spoon bends under your hand, you scoop out ice cream into the bowls. Yours is freezer burned a little, but you don't care. He just stares at you as you wordlessly hand him a spoon.

After a moment, Sollux sits. He handles the utensil as if it were strangely heavy, taking the tiniest of spoonfuls.

The ice cream has already begun to melt a little. The two of you have a lot of work ahead of you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sollux is depressed and there is road trip banter.

Your name is Sollux Captor and you still want to die.

You have nothing to code, nothing to code _with_ , and after days of ceaseless activity it's driving you fucking insane. You even stupidly left your phone on all night and now you're stuck waiting until you can get to Strider's before you can recharge it again. What you currently have at your disposal now includes a fickle radio, a tape cassette player, and a cigarette lighter that no longer works. Every time you glance at the dashboard you feel vaguely like punching it.

Strider is right. You're going through withdrawal. But that's not all.

Every so often your mind tries to curl around the raw concept that you've lost everything. It's like sticking your tongue into the gap of a newly lost tooth--you can't help it--but you back away from it before you can confront the idea head on again. Better not to think about it. Better to root yourself here and now, latch your mind onto something else, _anything_ else, because if you think about it for longer than a few seconds, you don't know what you'll do, and that frightens you a little.

You pillow your face against your arm and stare out the window while Karkat hisses and curses and struggles to maneuver the station wagon around overturned trashcans and fallen tree limbs. It is dazzlingly bright outside, the sky an absurd shade of cloudless blue. It had rained when the two of you left early that morning, the trunk of the car and the backseat crammed full of coolers filled with food, but this quietly grumbling shower rolled away as abruptly as it arrived, leaving everything fresh and sparkling.

You pass parked vehicles that are just as battered and dented and covered in pulped leaves and pulverized dogwood petals as the deathtrap you're stuck in. It's not even nine o'clock yet and the temperature is already climbing 80s-ward. The air smells like a giant compost heap, all warm and wet, the moldering scent of sodden grass and sap and rain thick enough to be distracting.

Were you able to bring yourself to do more than peer out at the world from some distant corner within yourself, you might think it smelled good.

You barely slept at all the night before, and it shows.

It wasn't for lack of trying. Attempting to share Karkat's twin bed had proven to be just as much of a disaster as it had all the other times. At first it had been kind of nice--you curled up together and he was sort of dense and comfortable in his own way and his voice buzzed through his chest as he talked about whatever flitted into this thinkpan until you fell asleep--but you were awake again within five minutes because, even though he promises he won't each time the two of you do this, he turns into a blanket stealing, kidney kicking, sleep talking _lunatic_ the moment he passes out, and tonight was no fucking exception.

So you moved to the loveseat in the living room, which ended up being an even worse idea. Your back and neck are killing you.

You drank three cans of coffee and a Red Bull for breakfast to make up for it, and it's left you feeling jangled and tense rather than truly awake.

Karkat's driving isn't helping.

"MOTHERFUCK, MOTHERFUCK, MOTHERFUCK, NO NO NO NO NO _NO_ _**WHY THE SWEET ASS BLISTERING FUCK ARE YOU SLOWING DOWN?!**_ "

"KK,"

"YOU IDIOTIC NOOKSNIFFING BULGEMUNCH. DON'T _STOP_ WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

" _KK,_ "

"OH MY FUCKING GOD, THIS IS THE MOST UNBELIEVABLE THING I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE GODDAMN LIFE--"

" ** _KK,_** "

His head snaps up, startled. You sigh.

"Could you _pleathe_ shut the fuck up for all of two thecondth."

"Fuck you, Sollux. _You_ can drive in this shit, then."

"Then you'd just thcream from my thide of the car."

"If only because you drive like everyone's proverbial wrinkled elderly woman lusus."

"Fuck you too, KK."

You turn to look back out the window. You can see weary humans doing the exact same thing you and Karkat are doing--bleary-eyed, tense, miserable humans packing food and pets and children into their cars and navigating their way through a town with no working streetlights, where all the blinking bank signs and rotating billboards and neon signs are unnaturally still and lifeless. You never notice these homey little civilized details when you pass them each day, but seeing them all offline only makes you feel small and scared and deeply, deeply weirded out.

You wish Karkat would yell at you some more.

This is stupid.

* * * *

You and Karkat have been stuck behind the same slow moving red tractor for the past thirty-three minutes.

Residential roads had long since given away to sprawling, mostly empty highways. The two of you observed with horror the craggy maple tree lying in a ditch that had been ripped up by the roots and mangled. The farm hives all showed signs of damage, from torn aluminum siding to broken windows. You passed telephone poles with dangling power lines. You passed a hive with a child's swing set sticking out of its front window. You passed a storage unit that had most of its tin roof lying in pieces in an adjacent field.

In spite of all these horrifying reminders, somehow dealing with all this isn't so bad when you're traveling through mostly open fields. By the time you end up behind the world's slowest tractor, you've settled into a state of comfortable apathy.

You are both stuck on a narrow, winding one lane road. The tractor is an absurd piece of human engineering--it has some sort of... contraption on the back that's clearly meant for connecting to and transporting other mysterious farm equipment. With it empty, the overall shape of it combined with the metal arms curving upward look a little like a red metal face with horns.

You swear it's mocking you.

Karkat has long since given up honking and screaming, especially when you spotted the driver making helpless waving motions in response. Whatever reason he had for blocking the entire fucking road, it was out of his hands, and it soon became apparent that the meager 40 miles per hour was the fastest he could make the thing go.

Instead, you try to ignore the looming, unspoken fact that the car is full of perishable food that is definitely perishing and listen to the radio. Unfortunately, you are too far out to be able to get a very good signal. There is a brief period where you encounter a news channel that makes reports of power outages throughout the Tarrant County area and that assistance would be available from the following locations, but the radio fuzzes out before you could learn _where_ , which results in Karkat blurting an abrupt, enraged shriek that scares the crap out of you.

You manage to keep him from beating his fist bloody against the dashboard, and after a minute or two you turn the dial again.

Neither of you are particularly well versed when it comes to this planet's music, but you swiftly and unanimously decide without having to speak a word that whoever invented the genre of contemporary country could burn forever in a human's hell before the lyrics of the song even start.

You stare at the radio in amazed horror, your mouth hanging open. For the first time in what feels like ages, you have the strangest urge to giggle. "Holy shit, this guyth more pathetic than _you_."

"Oh my fucking god turn it off, turn it off, _turn it off_ \--"

"I mean, really, ith thith for real? Fuck, I bet Eridan things thith shit in the shower when he thinkth nobodyth lithening--"

"OH FUCK YOU SIDEWAYS SOLLUX I DON'T NEED TO IMAGINE THAT SAD SACK NAKED--"

"Ehehehe oh god thith ith pricethleth--"

" _I swear to god if you don't make it stop I will **vomit my own melted thinkpan all over this dumpheap of a station wagon**_ \--

"Ew. That'th thick."

You twist the dial again. You encounter more static. Soon it becomes apparent that this station is the only one that will come through.

Karkat decides to take his aggression out on the tractor driver.

"ATTENTION ASSHOLE. AT THIS MOMENT I HATE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE ON THIS PATHETIC WASTE OF A PLANET--"

"Whoa, coming on a bit strong, there--"

"--IN WHAT IS MOST ATHUREDLY A DEAD PLATONIC WAY, _THOLLUCKTH_ \--"

You nod. "Better."

"--AND IF IT WERE PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE TO MAIM YOU WITH THE SHEER FORCE OF THE LOATHING YOU INSPIRE IN ME--"

" _Inthpire_? Are you thure you're not in the middle of compothing a kithmethith ode there, KK?"

"--I WOULD STUFF THAT ENTIRE FUCKING TRACTOR DOWN YOUR CHITINOUS PROTEIN CHUTE AND MAKE YOU SHIT THE WHOLE THING OUT YOUR REEKING DISTENDED ASSHOLE--"

" _O-oh my god._ "

"--OR I WOULD IF SOLLUX FUCKING CAPTOR WOULD SHUT HIS VILE NOOKCHOMPING MOUTH _OOOHH_ MY GOD _HAHAHAHAHA_ HE'S TURNING, HE'S TURNING, **HE'S FINALLY FUCKING TURNING** , _OH GOD YES_ \--"

Your eyes widen. Indeed, the tractor _is_ turning. The elderly human driving the thing flashes you a sheepish grin and a wave. Karkat returns the gesture by thrusting a middle finger out the driver's side window and peeling out fast enough to make your stomach drop.

You try not to be too hard on him when your left front tire bursts ten minutes later. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Karkat completely loses his shit over a flat tire, the trolls discover something horrifying lurking in the glove compartment, and A STRANGER APPROACHES.

As the adrenaline rush wears off, you spend several minutes feeling strangely detached and floaty while you watch yourself throttle the steering wheel and scream curses before Sollux punches you in the shoulder hard enough for it to hurt a lot, actually, and all at once you go from being hysterical to _absolutely fucking livid_ , except you're not flipping off the handle at Strider's shitheap of a vehicle anymore.

You round on him, teeth bared, but he cuts you off with an upraised hand.

“Shut it.” he snarls. “Our hive hath no power, my computer ith dethtroyed, our food ith thpoiling, and you're losing your shit over _a fucking flat tire_?”

Hearing that shuts you right down. The irrational fury promptly evaporates and you feel a queasy mix of guilt and shame knot your stomach that only worsens the longer the silence stretches. You hiss a sigh through gritted teeth and slump, pressing the heels of both hands against your eyes.

“Yeah, okay,”

When Sollux speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Bethideth, you did really good back there. You managed to get uth off the highway and onto the thide of the road without killing uth.”

“I gueth,” you say flatly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his lips twitch into the slightest of smiles.

* * * *

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: STRIDER.   
TG: kinda busy   
CG: STRIDER I DON'T GIVE EVEN A TINY FUCK. WE'RE IN TROUBLE AGAIN.   
TG: what happened now   
CG: WE ARE CURRENTLY STRANDED IN THE MIDDLE OF BUTTFUCK NOWHERE WITH A CAR FULL OF MOLDERING FOOD BECAUSE YOUR SHITTY FRONT LEFT TIRE BLEW.   
TG: unbelievable   
CG: BECAUSE OF YOU I NEARLY RAN INTO ONE OF YOUR OBNOXIOUS CHURCH BUSES   
CG: I IMAGINE IT WAS FULL OF ELDERLY HUMAN FEMALES AND SMALL WIGGLERS   
CG: IT WAS ONLY BECAUSE OF MY LEGENDARY ABILITY TO STAY CALM UNDER PRESSURE AND MY RESPLENDENT DRIVING SKILLS THAT THEIR LIVES WERE SPARED.   
CG: YOU MAY BASK IN MY UNQUESTIONABLE BRILLIANCE NOW.   
TG: okay first   
TG: who bought the junkheap off me three months ago   
TG: you did   
TG: thusly   
TG: your car   
TG: your fucked up tire   
TG: not my problem   
TG: second   
TG: you pissed yourself screaming and you know it   
TG: youve watched enough earth movies to know by now   
TG: when you introduce a shitty exstridermobile to a church bus full of old biddies and homeschooled future tv evangelists   
TG: they both go up in a motherfucking fireball   
TG: cause of the gas   
TG: special effects aint got shit on the real thing karkles   
TG: i know what happened   
TG: it was straight up armageddon in your head wasnt it   
TG: you envisioned a giant blazing mushroom cloud   
TG: your very own private death inferno   
TG: all that twisted metal and blackened body parts   
TG: and your poor bladder just couldnt handle it

God damnit, your hands are breaking out into a cold sweat just reading this shit.

“Ehehehehe.”

Your jaw clenches. You turn to glare balefully at Sollux, who is reading over your shoulder. When he doesn't draw back, you press a hand against his face and shove him arm's length away, mashing his glasses halfway up his forehead. He sputters and flails, hissing and glaring at you through your fingers, and you almost smile as you release him and turn your attention back to the phone.

CG: HEY FUCKASS, HOW ABOUT BEING USEFUL FOR ONCE IN YOUR WASTED LIFE AND TELL ME WHAT I'M SUPPOSED TO DO.   
TG: im guessing youre not on triple a   
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.   
TG: thought not   
TG: fuck   
TG: where the hell are you   
CG: WHAT PART OF 'BUTTFUCK NOWHERE' WASN'T CLEAR.   
TG: are you at least on the highway   
CG: YEAH. LAST SIGN I SAW, WE WERE ABOUT HALFWAY TO YOUR PLACE.   
TG: okay   
TG: your options are:   
TG: 1. you change the tire yourselves   
TG 2. you call the nearest tire store and have them come fix it   
TG: 3. you get eaten by rabid armadillos   
TG: i cant come get you bro has the fucking car   
TG: i can try calling him but theres no guarantee hell pick up hes on a gig   
TG: tell me you know how to change a tire karkles   
TG: tell me theres still a spare in the trunk   
TG: i dont want to be that grief stricken parent all over the news wailing about how the armadillos ate my favorite fuckup   
CG: I'LL SEE ABOUT THE TIRE STORE FIRST.   
TG: okay fine youll find the tire warranty in the glove compartment   
TG: it should still be good   
TG: there are a few stores around here that have that service let me check   
TG: brb

You breathe a sigh and let your eyes drift closed. “Okay. Strider says he's looking up some places that can help us.” You wave a hand in the general direction of the glove compartment. “Root around in there and find something that looks like a tire warranty.”

Sollux snorts. You glance over at him and find him polishing his glasses with his shirt, not looking at you. “You do it.”

You arch a brow at him, suspicious, but you find no warning signs that your moirail's mood is going down the load gaper—no familiar, ominous slouching, no flat tone, no sighing, no blank, dead stares. He dismisses you with the same flippant tone you used to order him.

“Fuck you. Do as your leader says and open the damned glove compartment.”

Sollux merely shakes his head slightly without bothering to lift his eyes from his shades. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“ _Yes_ , Captor.”

“No.”

“Just FUCKING--” You grab for his hand, but he bats you away. “ _Open_ the motherfucking thing before I ram my foot up your stinking seed flap you insufferable douche--”

“I'm not your maid, KK,” he says mildly, _tolerantly_ , as if humoring some goddamn fucking wiggler _tantrum_ , and you feel a growl form in the back of your throat.

What happens next is kind of a blur. You make a grab for those slender wrists, he attempts to knock you upside the head, and before you know it the two of you are engaged in the most epic slapfight in the history of two universes.

Somewhere during all of this, the glove compartment sags open and both of you freeze as you find yourselves staring at a plush green rump.

“Ith... ith that what I think it ith?”

“ _Oh my fucking god._ ”

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: WHY THE UNHOLY FUCK IS ONE OF YOUR UNSPEAKABLE FELT PUPPETS IN THE GLOVE COMPARTMENT.   
CG: THIS IS BEYOND HORRIBLE.   
CG: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU.   
CG: THIS IS WORSE THAN ANYTHING YOU HAVE EVER DONE.   
TG: hahahah no it isnt   
TG: and as much as id love to take credit for this it wasnt me   
CG: WHO THE FUCK ELSE WOULD IT ... OH.   
TG: yeah story of my life man   
TG: just believe me when i say this   
TG: it could have been worse

* * * *

Things are not going according to plan.

After spending fifteen minutes pacing back and forth alongside the car while calling the list of numbers Strider provided, you rapidly learn after attempting to describe the problem that the damage is above and beyond what the establishments are willing to deal with. You aren't sure why—yes, the tire is pretty much pulverized, but a mangled rim doesn't seem like any reason not to help a pair of stranded trolls on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

To make matters worse, the sky has started to cloud over in a way that you don't like at all.

They suggest towing services. They suggest taxis.

The last speaker, in a state of flustered helplessness, suggests walking. You suggest that he blow his insipid comments out his festering fucking facehole and hang up.

Behind you, Sollux is frowning at you from inside the car. “What do we do now?”

Slowly, deliberately, you relax your death grip on the phone and remind yourself that strangling your moirail would not be conducive to the situation.

You take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out. Above, the sky rumbles.

“I don't know. I guess we try to change the tire anyway.”

“You know how to do that?”

“No.”

This doesn't stop you from popping the trunk and removing the spare tire, which under closer examination is also flat.

“ ** _FUCK._** GOD FUCKING DAMN IT--”

Snarling, you give the spare tire a kick and it rolls wobbily into the ditch in a manner that almost looks sheepish.

From far away, part of you acknowledges the sound of Sollux getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. The rest of you is too busy gripping the back of the car and banging your head repeatedly against the trunk lid.

Then arms are pulling you away. “Okay, _okay_ , that'th enough--”

No it's not. You are the worst leader and this is a disaster. It won't be enough until you've pounded yourself into oblivion.

You feel a warning prickle of psionics and let go immediately.

Sollux doesn't put his arms around you. He doesn't tell you to calm down or insist that everything will be all right. He simply holds you at arm's length, glares at you over the rims of his shades, and says,

“Call Thtrider.”

You nod shakily and join him in the car. As you shut the door, you ignore the raindrop that hits your wrist.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: WELL, SHIT HAS HIT THE VERITABLE WHIRLING DEVICE.   
CG: NONE OF THE STORES WILL FUCKING HELP ME.   
TG: what   
CG: THE RIM IS DENTED. THIS BLOWS THEIR INFINITESIMAL THINKPANS.   
CG: ALSO, YOUR SPARE TIRE IS FLAT.   
TG: the fuck happened to the car dude   
CG: I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, I HIT A POTHOLE WHILE TRYING TO GET OFF THE ROAD.   
TG: christ   
TG: i dont know what to tell you man   
TG: oh wait   
TG: hold up

Minutes creep by. You are just about to prod him when another message pops up.

TG: oh snap   
TG: sit tight princess your knights on the way

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

You blink. “Oh.”

“Mm?”

“I guess Strider found a ride. He's on his way.”

You show him the phone. He peers at it and arches a brow. “Oh. Good.”

Outside, you can see the wind picking up by how the trees move.

Sollux sighs. “I hate to thay thith, KK, but I'm kind of thtarving.”

“Oh, _now_ you're interested in eating. Figures.” you mutter, even as you realize it's been hours since you ate as well. He looks at you and you shrug. “Okay, let's see if anything's edible.”

Between the two of you, you find half a loaf of bread, some slightly wilted lettuce, a bag of cool ranch Doritos, and a jar of pickles.

You make a face as you demolish your lettuce sandwich, which tastes less like real food and more like a sad mockery of a sandwich with each bite. You're a fucking troll. Your sandwich is supposed to have meat in it. Judging by the expression on Sollux's face, he's thinking the same thing.

You crunch a pickle. “So. This is pretty much the worst day ever.”

“It could alwayth be worthe.”

You glare at him incredulously. “ _How._ ”

He plucks a Dorito from the bag and studies it. “I could be alone.”

You have to concede that one.

* * * *

Forty minutes later, you are both bored out of your skulls.

You are taking sips from the empty pickle jar and Sollux is examining the smuppet with a sort of morbid fascination when you notice a dark shape down the road.

Frowning, you squint at it. Soon it reveals itself to be a van, but it's not like any van you've ever seen or imagined.

For one, it's bright purple.

The closer it gets, the more details you see. Your mouth drops open as it rolls to a stop beside you.

What you mistook for a simple purple paint job is actually a sprawling starscape, with two-thirds of Saturn covering the side door. Even more striking, however, is the auburn wizard straight out of Lalonde's fondest wet dreams, his flowing rainbow beard bleeding into the universe around him as he rides a green dragon.

The van is currently throbbing with bass as "Big Booty Bitches" blares from the radio. It cuts off abruptly as whoever is driving kills the engine.

You hear a door slam shut, and then your blood pump sinks as you spot the driver. You'd know those douchetastic pointy shades anywhere.

Bro grins. “Sup.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear god, I am so sorry this took so long.
> 
> In which Sollux and Karkat learn the Rules of the Van and Sollux gets an intriguing text message.

You can't shake the sick feeling that this plan just isn't going to work.

The wind picks up, warm, humid gusts of it ruffling your hair, and the sky is darkening ominously, but you are quiet while Karkat gives Bro an abbreviated explanation of what happened to the car. While he monologues, you turn the smuppet over and over in your hands as you lean against the car and frown at the van. It doesn't look big enough to fit the both of you and two large coolers in the back. Your sinking feeling increases as you notice shadows moving inside. Shit.

There is a beat of silence in which you realize Karkat has finished his rant. You glance over and discover Bro staring at you.

Or, more accurately, the smuppet.

Your hands still as you glance down at it. The smuppet stares back, its foam proboscis wobbling. You look up and Bro is smirking at you in a very particular way. You know that look; you've worn it enough times, yourself.

It's the exact expression you wore the time you were helping Karkat fix his husktop, only to accidentally open his blackrom porn folder while he peered over your shoulder. You wore it every time a younger, more innocent Gamzee obliviously made a double-entendre that had the rest of the room flushing their respective colors and giggling. Hell, there had been times when Sir Flounderlips himself had tried to out-perv you, and all it took was a short, meaningful pause and that smirk to make him trip all over those v's and w's.

You don't remember if anyone has ever tried that look on you before. All you know is that it's pissing you off.

You're about to say something to wipe that smirk off of Bro's face when the van doors slide open and you lock eyes with a slender young man with long, pale hair and eyes the exact color of a frozen lake. His identical twin appears behind him and holy fucking shit they're gorgeous.

“Ah,” says Bro. “Sol, Karkat, meet Juha and Jouni.”

You're aware that you've stopped breathing and your mouth has sagged open and you don't care. Jouni and Juha exchange looks, wide smiles appearing simultaneously, and you shiver.

Then Karkat's voice is in your ear: “You're drooling, dumbass.”

Scowling, you smack him in the shoulder with the smuppet, but all he does is snicker as he brushes past you and opens the back door. You stay out of the way while Karkat, Bro, and the twins transfer the coolers to the van. As they work, you learn that the twins are visiting from Finland. They spin under the shared DJ persona Moebius, alternating sound clips, lyrics, and jams between one another to a dizzying degree, but you are too busy staring at Juha's ass to register more than that.

They finish not a moment too soon; it starts pouring the moment you all pile into the van. The interior makes you grin and roll your eyes; there are glow-in-the-dark stars and moons plastered all over the ceiling and walls, and the air is thick with the smells of patchouli and cloves. It's just as cramped as you imagined—the coolers leave pretty much zero leg room, and your dear moirail calls shotgun before you can climb into the front seat.

Which leaves you alone, in the back, with the twins.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

They have even seated themselves in a way that leaves you a space open in the middle. As you settle between them, Karkat turns in his seat and gives you a knowing grin and the smuppet flies from your hand before you realize what you're doing. It emits a squeak that almost seems startled as it hits him square in the face.

“Fuck!”

You extend a middle finger in reply and prop your feet on the cooler the way the twins have done. You see they are smiling to themselves and you allow yourself a private smirk as you watch Karkat pick up the smuppet with just his fingertips and grimace at it in dawning horror as he realizes there is no way to hold the thing that doesn't look perverted. You can't stop a chuckle as he flings it away.

Beside him, Bro goes still. Karkat's upper lip curls as the man turns and _stares_ at him in a way that actually makes you feel a bit embarrassed for him. Bro huffs and smiles, and it's a strange sort of tolerant, rankled smile that says _oh you sweet little idiot you have no idea just how much you just fucked up do you_. One brow arches in silent reproach as he reaches down, picks up the smuppet, and sets it on the dashboard.

“Before we get this party started, we gotta establish some rules,” he says, just a hint of a condescending lilt lacing his deep monotone. “One, driver picks the music. Two, don't bitch at my driving. I am a fucking traffic ninja and you will deal. Three, it's a long way home. You gotta take a piss, you do it at the gas station in two miles or you hold it. Four--” And here he gives Karkat a look that makes him shrink into his seat a little even as his scowl deepens. “Don't. Throw. The smuppet.”

Your brows fly up as he shoots you a scornful glance that makes it clear that you are not exempt from this lecture. It makes you feel roughly two sweeps old, but you manage to keep your face blank.

“And just to make sure we all get the message...”

You blink and frown as the twins let out strained groans.

“... we're gonna listen to some Nickelback.”

The engine rumbles to life and you wince at the sudden deluge of loud drums and screaming guitars. You have not heard of this Nickelback. Thirty seconds into “Bottoms Up”, however, and you discover that there is actually something worse than contemporary country.

You feel a cool hand take yours and squeeze. Startled, you blink up at Juha, who is smiling in sympathy.

“Don't feel bad.”

Jouni catches your eye and quirks. “Juha dropped Lil Cal once.”

“He made us listen to nothing but Rod Stewart the entire ride home.”

“I don't think he's quite forgiven us.”

“That was nearly a year ago.”

You crack a grin. Where is Lil Cal anyway— _oh_.

There he is. He is nestled in the netted basket on the back of Bro's seat, as nonchalant as can be. Your eyes widen and you stiffen, unable to break that dead, plastic gaze, before you realize how absurd you're being. Mercifully, the song comes to a close, leaving your ears throbbing in the sudden quiet.

Bro is smiling. Karkat gives his head a little shake to clear it, coughs, and awkwardly begins asking him about towing options. You can tell he is just as chastised as you are and desperate to move the conversation somewhere, anywhere. Bro seems more than happy to offer suggestions as some soft, instrumental jazz number starts playing. You find yourself absorbed in their conversation as well, lulled by the rain drumming against the windows.

Jouni's fingers brush your knee.

Was that on accident? You glance at him. He has his chin cupped in one hand as he gazes out at the rain, but the way his lips curve is answer enough. Smiling, you find his hand without looking and stroke the backs of his fingers.

“Tho,” you say. “Did it hurt?”

Up front, you see Karkat stiffen and make a small, choked noise. He gives you a warning glare over his shoulder. “ _Don't you fucking dare._ ”

You let the pause stretch and smile serenely as Karkat bares his teeth.

“I mean it. Don't say it. I am deadly serious. You will know the true depths of my wrath. The sheer incandescent force of my hatred will blast you into a charred husk and you will never recover. It will consume you utterly. Bye-bye, no more mentally arthritic best friend. _Captor, **I swear to fucking god**_ \--”

Jouni looks at you, intrigued. “Did what hurt?”

You adjust your shades. “When you fell out of heaven.”

* * * *

You have no idea you've fallen asleep until you wake to find the van dark save for the greenish glow of dozens of plastic stars and moons. Your first thought is that, somehow, you fell asleep with something heavy and limp draped across your lap. Frowning, you lift your head from Juha's shoulder and hiss as your neck protests the movement, shoving at the mysterious object so you can go back to sleep...

Something large and round and pale tilts sharply, and then you are staring into two unblinking blue eyes and a familiar rictus grin.

You squeak. Why the hell is the fucking puppet in your lap? On either side of you, Juha and Jouni sleep on, their breathing even and slow. You sit there frozen as you try not to completely lose your shit.

Before you can think about it too much, you blink and the weight is gone. You look up and find Lil Cal draped around Bro's neck.

What the fuck.

Up front, Karkat's phone starts blaring the Midnight Crew theme. Your moirail shows no signs of waking. He is slumped and snoring in his chair, his mouth hanging open in a way you know means he's been out cold for quite a bit--and by the angle of his head, his neck is going to ache even worse than yours.

Wincing, you creep over to his seat. Bro doesn't glance at you as you fish the phone out of Karkat's pocket and find a message:

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]  
CG: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA  
TG: vantas did you forget the part where i told you i was fucking busy  
CG: ASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  
TG: …  
CG: SSSDDCDF  
TG: dude did you seriously just butt dial me  
TG: seriously  
TG: oh my god you idiot  
CG: hii 2triider  
TG: oh look who it is  
TG: glad to see youre alive over there bro  
TG: but the fact remains  
TG: im busy  
CG: yeah ii gathered, ii ju2t wanted you two know we are 2afe iin your bro2 hiideou2 van  
TG: okay fine wonderful  
TG: fuck  
TG: listen man im glad youre not stranded anymore and you dont have to cannibalize vantas or anything  
TG: but im not your mom  
TG: you dont gotta check in with me  
TG: you two are big boys now  
TG: gotta cut the apron strings sometime captor  
TG: now if youll excuse me  
TG: i gotta open a can of whupass on this cheeky motherfucker

turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]  


You snort and shake your head as you crawl back to your seat.

He should really just get hatemarried already.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with Bonus Screamy Karkat, drawn by fevered_ego. (If you like this, you can find more [here.](http://atomicfireball.deviantart.com))
> 
> Nature hates him.


End file.
